Are you ready? (part 2)

Don’t you hate that answer? My software customers surely do…
We want certainty.
We want black & white.
We want to leave no room for the unexpected.

And that’s exactly the opposite of childbirth and what it means to become a parent.

If you haven’t caught on yet or are just getting to know me, I’m a father of one son (Miles) and my wife (Jordan) and I are expecting our second child and first daughter this October.

I’ve been down this road before, and should have some experience to draw from.

While my working memory may have forgot all the ins & out of bringing a life into this world… my subconscious hasn’t forgotten.

Jordan and I have the physical and mental scars to show for it.
And yes, we should be ready.

But I would be lying to you if I told you I am 100% there.

And that’s where I typically divert the conversation. Because, truthfully, I haven’t yet been ready to think about our next childbirth.

But… Micah’s due date is October 25th.
She is on her way… the train has left the station…
And it’s time for me to get on board.

Getting on this train means confronting feelings I haven’t felt in quite a long time and quite possibly haven’t fully dealt with.

Our son Miles was born with undiagnosed TGA (Transposition of the Great Arteries). TGA is a serious heart condition where the two main arteries leaving the heart, the aorta and the pulmonary artery, are switched. With TGA, oxygen rich blood is sent to the lungs, and oxygen poor blood is sent to the body.

Non-scientifically, this means the body is not receiving oxygen and cannot sustain life.

Extra-Non-scientifically… Miles almost died on his first day of life.
He coded multiple times.
He went through a failed balloon arterial septostomy procedure.
He was placed on ECMO (a machine that does the work of the heart).

He was (in rushed doctor terms) “touch and go”.
That’s code word for “prepare yourself for your newborn son not to be alive.”

I can close my eyes and recount that day, March 3, 2023. It’s all vividly there.
The delivery room.
The machines whirring and lights buzzing
The final snapshot of Miles rapidly turning blue, before being rushed away.
The grim faces of nurses, doctors, more doctors and social workers.
The bare, isolating hospital room where Jordan and I sat alone, without our baby.

We tried our best to make Miles’ room a home for the next 3 weeks. We brought decorations, books, and his little octopus blanket that he grasped ever so snugly.

Miles’ birth changed me.

I hate expressing my circumstances as traumatic, but it was.
There’s no way around this.

That day and following weeks presented me (& Jordan) with a lot of images I would’ve rather not seen, feelings I would’ve rather not felt, and moments I would’ve rather not lived.

In addition the mental images I’ve stored (which have and will fade over time), I deeply remember each feeling. These are feelings I didn’t want to feel then, and I surely don’t want to now.. I’ve put them away in a box that is seldom open.

My box includes…

Fear - of the unknown. Will Miles survive, will he ever be “normal”, will we ever be okay?

Shame - in my naivete. In not understanding the true reality and risk of childbirth and treating it with levity.

Anger - in everything… Raw, red, anger. At the medical system (who missed Miles’ TGA diagnosis), at the world at large, and at myself (in place of not knowing what to feel).

Loneliness - isolated from my life, work, friends and family — both physically and emotionally.

Overwhelmed - by our circumstance. By the constant change in Miles’ PCICU condition. By the machines, tubes, medicine, and protocols eventually sent home with us.

Guilt - that we could be one of the “lucky parents” who gets to see their child come home from PCICU. That Miles’ heart condition, while life threatening, is correctable and he could live a long, healthy life.

… let’s close up the box again for now, shall we?

Miles had a successful ASO (arterial switch operation) surgery 7 days after his birth. He left intensive care 3-weeks later and came home with us.

We had our hands full.
A few weeks later I started working again.

I stayed distracted.
I drank a bit more.
I was doing what I could to survive.

But I couldn’t shake this one off.

I was hardening, hiding my feelings.
I was retreating into my comfort zones.
I was on the wrong path.

During Miles’ traumatic first day, I retreated to the quiet, empty church pew inside of AdventHealth Orlando’s main campus.

It had been a long time since I prayed,
and even longer since I had been in a church.
(But heck, I was desperate)

In my desperation, I sat there, confronting mortality and the fragility of life.
I wanted to be a “stoic”.
I wanted to focus on what I could control.
I wanted to accept whatever fate lie ahead…

But what I really wanted was Miles to live past his first day.
I wanted to know him as a son, not as a tragedy.
I wanted the beautiful, intelligent boy that we have now.

So I prayed.
I prayed for strength no matter the outcome.
I prayed for his life.
And I made a commitment that day to“Do whatever it is you (God) want from my life.”

I can say now, 2.5 years later, I am a completely changed man.
But it didn’t happen through a single prayer.

I invited God back into my life begrudgingly.
I had a lot of questions, doubt, and anger… most of all anger.
I clung to my old self for as long as I could.

Things got harder before they got better.
We had to watch Miles fight for his life, then slowly recover.
We struggled as parents to a newborn with many protocols and a feeding tube.

I burned inside with anger.
I pushed down all other emotions.
I went out into the world clouded… literally seeing RED looking for fights, anything to take away the pain.

But I never forgot my promise.
And God didn’t either.

And in full-circle fashion, Jordan got pregnant again Feb. 2025 and we braced ourselves for what’s to come while celebrating what Miles has accomplished.

I’ve continued to struggle.
I’ve continued to question and doubt.
Many days I question the path I’m on.

What’s different is I’m not walking it alone anymore.

Back to my original question.
If you’ve made it this far — Thank you.
I needed to get some things off my chest.

I alone will never be ready.
I’ll never be prepared enough.
I’ll never have it all figured out.

I am ready for whatever is next on my path.
Because I believe in a plan bigger than myself.
Because I know even in hard times, we are not alone.
Because Faith is the way forward.

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